Donnie, Donnie with his broom like hair,
Tells everybody "Well I don't care -
If the seas all rise and the air grows hot,
I have an air conditioned yacht."

The task was quite simple - speak into the mic,
Or post it to Twitter if that's what you like,
But pause for a moment your intense game of Yahtzee
And tell the whole nation that no sick neo-****,
White supremacists, kkker or alt-right fanatic –
(With or without robes that they found in the attic)
Is allowed to spread terror or drive cars through a crowd.
Vile speech, vile actions just won't be allowed.
As people sat waiting throughout our great nation-
Instead of a strong and robust condemnation
There came but a tweet both insipid and sad
Implying that both sides were equally bad,
And when no one came forth to defend his position
Not Repubs or Dems, hardly one politician
Trump finally said okay what I meant
Was white supremacists are evil one hundred percent.
But the bigots were grinning as Trump's sound bite got tossed -
Cause he had made it quite clear that his fingers were crossed.

Are they good people?
Friendly folk?
Good neighbors perhaps,
Willing to lend a helping hand-
Loving family members?

When they are not preaching hatred, I mean,
Waving symbols of terror and oppression;
Scapegoating people who fled oppression
Torture, death or economic hardships
Such as we have never endured..
Or denying the rights of fellow citizens
(who's ancestors were stolen, enslaved, tortured, terrorized and
Stripped of as much dignity and humanity as was possible even years after the promises of freedom and equality.)

And when the parades and riots are over,
Are they good people, nice folk, once more?

Inside the house,
my cat is a cat
napping and lounging all day;
but outside the house
she’s a wild jungle beast
silently stalking her prey.

Inside the house
she’s all cuddles and purr
and a nudge so loving and mild;
outside the house–
crouched and ready to pounce–
she’s a lioness fearless and wild.

To the brave non conforming curl of hair on that woman’s cheek
To the grace of that man’s rhythmic movement as he hurries down the street
To the pure glorious delight with which that girl greets her friend
To the faraway gaze of that child’s eyes
To the faces that girl makes when she thinks her mother can’t see
To the lip being bitten
To the swirl of the skirt
To the way that girl holds her baby sister
To the way those boys jump to touch the branch above them
To the slow careful steps the old man takes
To the disapproving shake of the old woman’s head
To the  toddler jumping across every other tile

Thank you

Do not write about love.
Do not bleed words all over the page.
Do not tell the world how in-love / heart-broken you are.
Or sing your lovers virtues.
Or spew hateful bile at those who have bruised your heart.
Don’t do it.
Just don’t.
Not right now.
Later, perhaps.
Much,
much
later.

To teach is a thing you can't do alone -
No matter how deeply the fire may burn.
The desire and effort to teach must be matched,
by another’s desire and effort to learn.